


Maybe just for Today

by iammisscullen



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Angst, Headcanon after BOTFA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He will never forget. And that is what haunts him, keeping him sane and mad at the same time.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe just for Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherakin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherakin/gifts).



> Apologies if I ruin anything since this isn't really my fandom-fandom. I know nothing of Middle Earth besides what I watched on movies.
> 
> Twin ([slytherakin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherakin/works)), I hope I did this shipment justice. Sorry if I ever not made it to the qualification bar. Sorry if it's 14 days late.
> 
> This is to fulfill slytherakin's request of a Cherik fanfic but she ended up requesting Thilbo after we watched BOTFA.
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Wasn't beta-ed. Forgive me.

_Forget her tattered memories,_

_or the pages others took;_

_you are her ever after –_

_the hero of her book._

-Lang Leav, _Lullabies_

 

          It still amazes him how tiny of the world outside he sees from the safety of his home in The Shire, yet he knew exactly how vast it is and how dangerous it can be. He has seen many a great places outside his home and he has witnessed a lot of things that his old self would have cringed on.

          He is wiser now, more knowledgeable than any of his books will ever let him be. And it’s a scary thing because he knows about things that he only reads before. He knows the true sound of laughter, the perfect colour of the sunset, the real temperature of an icy lake, the heat of a dragon flame, the sound of gold coins under his feet, the look of true desperation in someone’s eyes, how soft touches that calms a nervous heart feels on his skin, and so much more. But more importantly he now knows of _love_ and _pain_.

          He moves outside to his little garden and sits down at the bench he had made himself years ago, the same bench that he sat on when a tall wizard with grey hair talked to him about going on an adventure. But now beside the bench is an oak tree. It is not huge because it will take years to fully mature and fulfil its destiny to be one of the greatest trees in the land.

          The tree – not very much nearing its greatness – does provide great shade on midday if Bilbo wants to smoke outside or read a book. And to tell you a secret, this tree may not be special as it looks but it holds the most precious memory Bilbo had ever made, for this tree is the nut that he had kept from the kingdom under the mountains. He had found it lying idly among a mass of treasure inside cold castle walls.

          This is the tree whose nut he pretended to steal.

          And now it is the tree that holds his precious memories. It is what confirms his disbelief about certain matters that he thought he had only dreamt of. Happy nostalgic events and the saddest part of his existence as well.

          He looks up at its massive branches and abundant leaves and he can see it all back again, like as if the tree had written his story on its leaves and branches, showing it all to Bilbo in case he forgets.

          He will never forget. And that is what haunts him, keeping him sane and mad at the same time.

          Maybe he may not have acknowledged it at some times but it is _always_ there; the memory never leaving or being blurred by the passage of time, never ceasing – just keeping afloat and pushing itself into his consciousness when he least expects. And it drowns him as he allows to be enveloped by it, letting it take control because it is _the only_ thing that keeps him breathing.

          His memories – especially the painful ones – are the safe ground that reminds him it was _real_. It was not a product of his imagination, that the jab of pain and happiness in his heart is another reminder by how real it was all.

          And as Bilbo leans his back on the tree, he can almost hear _him_ say, _Well done, Master Baggins. Well done._

          Bilbo closes his eyes and lets his mind wanders into the past, lets himself open that cabinet he refuses to open because it hurts – because it was real.

          He replays it back again – _that_ final moment when he knew he completely lost _him_ – and asks himself if he had properly said _Goodbye_. He wants to regret not saying _Thank you_ and _I will miss you_. He did not regret asking _him_ to stay.

          No. Bilbo did not regret asking Thorin to stay because it was one of the most honest things he has ever done.

          Bilbo may have lied about many things like about being not afraid, about keeping the ring a secret, about not giving the Arkenstone to Thorin immediately, about pretending to be fine when he’s not, about disliking the whole adventure. But he is never more sure and honest about asking Thorin to stay. He will never apologise for it, never will he ever regret it in his life.

          Deep down Bilbo does not care about the consequences – like how he did not care about keeping the magical ring a secret to everyone – because he is allowed to be selfish at times. And _Please stay_ may have been a selfish thing to say to someone who is clearly ready to leave but Bilbo will say it once more if he has a chance to do it all again.

          And maybe if given a chance to return to the past, he will surely make Thorin stay. Do everything in his power to make Thorin stay.

          But Bilbo does not have that kind of power. So all he could ever do was beg Thorin not to go: trembling fingers holding unto the dwarf he longs to save, he wants to keep; shedding tears he hopes could change the decision of the Fates; shaky, pleading voice that he wish could turn back the hands of time.

          He cannot live in regrets, and hoping for things to be different when it is clearly not going to happen. Yet he cannot – for the life of him – let go of the fact that he has not been given a chance to say his proper goodbye to the dwarf that trusted him with all his heart. He cannot dwell at the missed opportunity to tell Thorin the deeper meanings of his _I care about you_ and _I am so glad to be here with you on this journey_.

          Do the times their fingertips brush against each other enough to convey the words his heart longs to say but his mouth cannot form? Do the soft pats on the back speak enough of how happy he is in Thorin’s company? Do the long, lingering gazes tell bluntly of how proud he is of Thorin?

          Was he even given enough time to confess everything to Thorin? To tell him that he wants to write about The King Under the Mountains. So everyone will be able to hear the greatness of Thorin Oakenshield.

          Maybe Bilbo will still write that book about the great legend of Thorin Oakenshield and his conquest on taking back his kingdom. But what Bilbo’s pen and ink will never grasp is, who really Thorin Oakenshield was behind all his titles. And maybe when Bilbo looked into the mad, wrecked, and desperate Thorin, he saw that even broken people can be beautiful. They are like beautiful crystals, they may be shattered and ruined but they _still_ are crystals – only if you know how to appreciate them even with their cracks as you put them back again.

          And that’s when he knew that marred jewels are pretty despite their scars because nothing is perfect until you fall in love with it.

          For dear Bilbo, Thorin was perfect.

**

          Bilbo loves to relive his entire adventures even if most often than not they pain him a bit. But he must be some sort of masochist now. And when he does like to recall them he writes it down or tells it to the little ones that loves to come over to _his_ tree to hear of the tales about dragons, elves, orgs, and dwarves; places that lies beyond The Shire – places that leaves a mark or two in his tiny hobbit heart.

          ‘Where did you get this tree, Mr. Bilbo?’ a young one asks, pointing out to the oak tree they are under.

          Bilbo looks up and smiles back down at young Frodo. ‘I fought a dragon to get its seed and deceived a great king to bring it home.’

          The memories came rushing back into the surface again. He does not fight to pull it back down into his subconscious. He lets it float, swims into his consciousness that if he will close his eyes he can picture everything before him – can touch it if he reaches out.

But of course he cannot.

          Yet he lets his mind imagine it, tolerates his heart to dream of it even it is causes a sharp pang of ache that spreads through his bloodstream as if his heart is pumping painful substance that his body goes numb. And he thinks that sometimes not feeling anything is fine, giving his heart a chance to recollect itself – to get ready for the pain to come.

          And pain do comes. It is not like it ever leaves. It is just awakens and stirs and gnaws at his soul and envelops him.

          _It is not bad._

          Maybe it is.

          He does not care. _He does not care._

          He lets it happen.

          He lets pain envelops him.

          _He does not care._

**

          The wind blows around him and the beyond before him is vast. He puts his arms up beside him and he feels like flying. He had flown once and it was a thrilling sensation. But as he stands there – on a cliff – over looking the great mountains of the dwarves his mind spreads wings but his heart curls back inside his chest, the same thing it does when Bilbo stares at the tree outside his home.

          He knows that he should not have come. He should not have been there… again.

          But he cannot keep away. He cannot.

          _He lets it happen._

          He does not care. _Not anymore._

          And he stares at the distance. He can see it clearly even without his sight. Can picture it perfectly even if he does not look. But he does look. He allows himself to look, to stare, to ponder, to break his heart.

          He _lets_ it all happen.

          His heart breaks. _Again._

          He _lets_ it all happen.

          He relives all the memory and it cuts him deep. _Again._

          He _lets_ it all happen.

          He closes his eyes. He waits. And then there it is… _his voice_. He listens and his stomach churns and his knees give in.

          He _lets_ it all happen.

          _‘How are you doing, Master Baggins?’_

          He does not reply.

          _‘How is that oak tree you were so excited about?’_

He can see him smiling. The smile that creeps on _his_ lips warms up Bilbo’s heart and puts a smile on his own lips.

          _‘It is getting bigger by the day.’_

Bilbo never replies. He never does.

          _‘Take care of it.’_

And then _he_ is gone. _Again._

          Slowly and reluctantly, Bilbo Baggins opens his eyes. He is welcomed back into reality, a world without Thorin Oakenshield and he wishes to go back into that dream like place where Thorin exists. Or whatever is left of Thorin in his memory.

          He tells himself that the reason why he goes over to the cliff is to get some air, to revisit his past – when he looks at the great mountains he once hiked – so he will not forget, to find solace.

          But the truth – that is locked somewhere deep in his heart that he denies to notice – is that he goes to the cliff to be alone with _his_ memories. Sometimes you just have to do _anything_ just for you to breathe.

          Thorin was his breathing space.

But Thorin is only alive in his memories and he wants to drown in them.

          So he does.

          It is not bad.

          Maybe it is.

          _He lets it happen._

          _He does not care._

          He does not say goodbye as well. _Not yet_.

  ** _Fin._**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope I didn't disappoint so much.


End file.
